The Rebel
by ForeverFinite
Summary: AU. After his life is threatened in a devastating rebel attack, Prince Maxon wants nothing more than to stop the insurrectionists, but what happened when a particular red haired insurgent teaches him that his world of palaces and ball gowns is all more toxic than it seems?
1. The Prince

**The Selection trilogy and its characters is the property of the illustrious Kiera Cass.**

**Ok, so this is my first fanfic ever, and at this point I have no idea what I'm doing so without further ado: The Rebel.**

**-Maxon-**

The sound of screams and gunfire flowed endlessly from behind the sealed door. Soldiers' voices called out orders in an attempt to take the palace back from the rebels.

I sat silently in my corner of our hidden shelter, my mother by my side. Fear showed plainly in her eyes, and yet, she still managed to look regal, and composed. Not far from me my father seethed in the silence, his face obstructed by the shadows. Regardless of the darkness, I knew all too well, what look he wore on his face. His features were marred by a deep scowl; his eyes flashing a warning.

"Maxon," my mother murmured her voice soothingly calm. "Perhaps, you should go see how the girls are faring."

I looked across the cavernous space that served as our refuge, to the far wall, where an ocean of silks and satins greeted me. The girls practically cowered in the corners, their skirts swished loudly on the stone floors. Several of them had their unsteady gazes trained on me.

"Mother, —" I paused, unwilling to leave the relative safety of my corner, though I knew she was right. "I – yes. Yes, I should."

My usual eloquent articulation failing me, I began to walk towards the girls. My hands were shaking as I straightened my clothes.

The _click click click_s of my footsteps intermingled with the clamor flowing in from the door.

A tall girl in a light blue gown rushed out to me and fell into my arms. "Oh, Maxon! I'm glad you're safe!"

"Celeste," I said trying to hide my animosity. "How are you?

"I'm wonderful now that you're here," she purred, running her finger tips over my cheeks.

"Lovely," I said flatly, struggling to pry her manicured fingers from my skin.

After my less than enjoyable encounter with Celeste, I walked among the girls trying – and in some cases failing – to ensure their comfort. The girl from Carolina, Samantha, was shivering from a draft that I highly doubted existed outside of her imagination. Though, in spite of my disdain for her fictitious ramblings, I lent her my suit jacket.

I was a hapless castaway in the sea of silks; how I managed to stay composed is a mystery in itself, and by the time I reached Lady Marlee I felt physically exhausted.

This is not to say that I found Marlee to be an exasperating person, it was actually quite the opposite. Unlike most of the other girls, she wasn't attention hungry, or putting on an obvious front. She was humble and kind, and it was quite obvious why she was the public's favorite.

My gaze lingered on her for a moment, perusing her brown eyes and long blonde hair. Then the words Princess Marlee flashed across my mind, and I knew that I'd have to cut this short.

"Marlee?" I approached her slowly, having learned the hard way, just how jumpy the girls could be during attacks.

She was sitting with Lady Elise, trying to console her to no avail. Tears trekked down her cheeks in torrents, leaving her face blotchy and red.

"Maxon…" Marlee murmured almost inaudibly. She wrapped one of her arms around Elise and pulled her closer so that her head rested on her shoulder.

"How is she?" I asked my voice softening at the sound of Elise's now steady breaths.

Marlee's eyes were poised at the ground like she found something particularly interesting about her shoes. "She's shaken up…"

Perhaps Marlee's only fatal flaw was that she, for some unidentifiable reason, seemed to have no interest in talking to me. It proved to be rather infuriating at first, before my mother convinced me that should have patience with her, and that she'd change over time.

I cocked my head, as if to inquire what was wrong. She glanced up at me, through her eyelashes.

Marlee opened her mouth to reply just as the door was unsealed and several soldiers flooded into the room.

One of them materialized right behind me. "Your Highness, the palace is cleared."

I nodded, feeling so tired. All I wanted was to forget my duties for just one night and crawl into bed, like I had when I was a child after a long day of exploring the palace.

Turning to him I knew, that that was exactly what I was going to do. "Officer…um,"

"Woodwork, sir."

"Yes, Officer Woodwork, would you ensure that Lady Marlee and Lady Elise are safely escorted to their respective rooms?"

"Of course, sir."

I flashed a small smile to the girls before slipping out of the space. Outside, the hallway was in disarray. Deep gouges in the walls ruined the gilt damask wallpaper. Glass and parts of ruined furniture littered the floors.

Maids and other staff were already out trying to hurriedly clean the havoc left it the Rebel's wake.

I told myself that when I became king security would be much better, and that I'd fortify the palace until it was impregnable. These words ran through my head over and over again as I carefully picked my way over debris.

I reached the stairs and ascended them at a lethargic pace. My limbs were heavy, and it felt like forever before I reached the third floor. My room wasn't far from here, but after taking a few steps, I was stopped in my tracks.

The siren was going off.

They were back.

On impulse I began to test the walls for hidden doors, before I remembered at the last minute that they were all sealed from the previous attack. Pulling my keys out I fumbled with the nearest door, my hands shook too badly for me to insert it into the slot. I finally managed it only to have the key break off in the lock.

Cursing myself, I backtracked. The sound of feet pounding on the stairs raced against my heartbeat.

I was as good dead.

Unsure of exactly what I was doing, I ran to the service stairs. Any trace of my former exhaustion gone, as I began to go up the only flight of stairs in the palace that led to the roof.

**If I messed anything up, please forgive me! I know this is probably terrible.**


	2. The Pauper

**-America-**

The call for the second wave passed swiftly through our ranks, and in seconds I was running towards the palace. Clutching the bundle I carried closer to my chest, I poured on the speed.

In these few, short moments with the wind racing through my hair, I felt invincible.

It wasn't long before the palace rose up on the horizon. We had taken to calling it the Mountain. The first time I'd seen its hulking shape, it had been quite easy to believe that it was a Mountain. One of magic, Ball gowns, Marble, and wonder.

And treachery, so much treachery.

The city streets were a blur; I was a mere three blocks from the still vulnerable Palace entrance when I heard a voice. "America!" It hissed from the shadow of an alleyway.

"Aspen?" I responded, my voice tipped with uncertainty. I stopped not too far from the alley's entrance.

"No, don't stop! Your father told me to tell you that the stairwell is on the third floor," He was breathing heavily, and speaking so quickly that his words blended together. "Do you have the Pennant?"

"Yes," I said gesturing to the bundle in my arms, and preparing to run again. The sounds of fighting flowed back to us. Hearing the cries of anguish, I cringed. "Aspen, be careful," I whispered, and then I was running again. He called something after me, but I couldn't quite hear it over the combat's dull roar.

Getting through the seemingly endless maze of battling bodies was nearly impossible. Several times I saw people being shot and killed right in front of me, but I pressed on, until I reached what had to be the servant's stairs.

Jumping over debris and fallen bodies, I sprinted up the steps my legs pumping and my lungs working overtime. When I finally reached the third floor, my muscles were screaming for relief.

The third floor was much more sumptuous than the other two. Even in chaos the space's extravagance showed through the wreckage. I paused for a moment to ogle at the beauty of the marble floors and frescoed ceilings, and ducked as a bullet lodged in the wall, just inches from where my head had been.

Keeping my head down, I ducked through hallways searching for the stairwell. It proved to be rather difficult to find. When I finally reached it, the pennant and I were soaked with sweat.

I slipped into the small room that housed the stairs just as a stray bullet was whizzing through the doorway.

Just looking at the stairs made me what to throw up. I was sweaty, tired, and disheartened; I knew my mission was not one of importance, not like Kota's was.

My father had sent me to replace the Illéan flag that flew from the roof of the palace with the pennant he'd given me. He had tried to convince me that it was important and symbolic, but I knew it was a load of crap and that he had doled out this inoperable assignment to keep me from getting hurt. Though, considering how much gunfire there had been outside, his plan had quite a few holes in it.

Unlike me, my older brother, Kota, was given a mission so important that it had to be kept secret, and the arrogant jerk wouldn't let anyone forget. Apparently, he was somewhere skulking in the bowels of the palace, looking for something.

some small part of me wished I was with him.

I told myself I didn't care, I told myself that I was better than petty jealousy, even as I ascended the stairs to complete my menial task.

The roof was expansive and cold. It was a spiraling mess of sloping surfaces and shingles.

After locating the flag pole near the front of the palace, I carefully made my way towards it, having to stop many times to make sure I didn't tumble down to my death. When I finally got to it, I set the pennant aside and began to lower the flag. It snapped in the wind making job all the more difficult.

When I'd finally freed the flag from its pole, I noticed a shadow darting out of my peripheral vision.

I wasn't alone.

Leaning down like I was about to unfold the pennant, I wrapped my fingers around the knife I kept in my boot. The handle was rough and wooden; it cut into the skin of my hand. No doubt I'd have splinters after this

The shadow was back again and it was edging closer. All of my muscles tensed, and I began to count down in my head

3…If I didn't kill them, they'd kill me.

2…Whoever it is likely deserves it.

1…I refuse to die.

I quickly and fluidly spun around and pulled out my knife. Brandishing it in a defensive position.

In front of me stood a man – a boy really – he couldn't have been much older than me. He was blonde with deep blue eyes, a look of morbid fear ruining his otherwise handsome features. The boy wore dark suit pants, loafers, a tie in pastel colors, and a white button down shirt.

"Don't you know it's rude to sneak up on people?" I said turning my knife so the moonlight reflected off of the cool metal.

The boy scoffed at me, though the fear was still in his eyes. He snarled up his lip declaring, "You all are barely human."

"Then I guess it won't really matter if I kill you."

His breath hitched in his throat. "W – what?"

"You heard me."

"N – no, I–"

"Then put up this flag," I said tossing him the pennant. When he made no move to catch it, I took a few steps forward pointing the tip of the blade at his heart.

"Okay, Okay! I'm doing it," he grumbled as he picked up the fallen bundle.

While the boy worked to put the flag up I observed him. His clothes weren't right for him to be a soldier, but he was too nicely dressed to be a member of staff.

I couldn't escape the feeling that he was familiar.

Half way through his attempts at pulling the flag up the pole my attention drifted. I found myself watching the Angeles skyline, and nearly gasped at what I found.

It was like a million diamonds were lying on a strip of black velvet. I had never seen so many lights in my life. Colossal buildings that were taller than anything I had ever seen rose up to kiss the nighttime sky. Smaller, much shorter buildings glittered at their bases in mock envy of their taller counterparts.

The light almost burned my eyes, yet I couldn't help but whisper, "Beautiful."

"You're observant," he muttered under his breath, as he finally completed his work.

"Who are you anyway?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.

The boy looked away, and crossed his arms. "Are we done here?"

I raised my eyebrows. Why was he so reluctant to tell me who he was?

"Not exactly," I said, pointing at the discarded flag that now lay on the ground. "Get rid of that."

He picked up the flag in one bundle and carried it over to the edge of the roof where he dropped it.

"Well," I started, backing away from him slowly. "This has been nice; maybe we could do it again sometime."

"Not on your life," he spat, anger now contorting his face into something monstrous.

I was a few feet away from the door to the stairs when I everything began to click.

The boy's eyes never left me, and even as I tucked the knife back into my boot he stayed in the same spot.

Throwing open the door, I gave him a grim smile. "Don't think I don't know who you are, Schreave!" I called, before pounding down the stairs with no idea how I'd get out of this palace.

**Thanks so much you guys!, I'm still really unsure as to how this will play out, but I plan on updating every day, if not every other day. So please review!**


	3. Ruins

**-Maxon-**

I watched the rebel flag flap wildly in the wind. It was all black except for a white symbol in the middle – the sign of the rebels.

Heat flared in my cheeks, at the thought of that girl. She was brazen and despicable. To think that she had had the nerve to come into _my home _and threaten me!

A part of me was so angry not only at the girl, but at myself for allowing her to do this. I was prince, this was my domain, my palace, and yet I had just let some street rat just waltz right in and hold me at knifepoint as I was forced to deface what was practically my own property.

Maybe my father was right, maybe I was weak.

Shaking the dark thoughts from my head, I began the agonizingly slow trek across the roof to the stairwell.

I shivered; it had gotten cold in the time I'd spent up here, and I had mentally berated myself for giving my jacket to Samantha numerous times.

Walking across the rooftop was a pain. I stumbled and nearly fell several times. How the girl had done it so gracefully was a mystery. When I had been watching her from my hiding place, it almost seemed like she had been dancing.

I groaned lightly, wanting nothing more than to tear her from my memory. The encounter played over in my head like a sickening movie. What had been my motivation when I had tried to sneak up on her? Was I going to push her over the edge? Try to fight her?

No, I had acted thoughtlessly and now was reprimanding me for it. And as I began my slow descent into the palace, I could only hope that no one ever found out about this.

The palace was in even worse condition than the last time I saw it. Where before there had been medium to small sized gashes in the walls, there were now enormous chunks of plaster missing, and whole walls collapsed in on themselves some revealing offices and drawing rooms, while others showed the stark interiors of bunkers.

Ruined furniture flowed out of rooms in waves high enough to reach my thighs.

The worst part was the bodies. Any trace of them was always gone by the time I'd exited the bunkers.

But not this time.

They lay in lifelike positions their eyes open and mouths drawn. The corpses, some clad in guard uniforms, others in more crude materials, all seemed to be sleeping like if you beckoned them they would rise and resume their lives.

I cringed at the blood, some still fresh that was splashed almost everywhere.

Mirrors that had been spared from the first wave were shattered to useless pieces. My eyes darted over to one of the fragments, and caught a glimpse of myself.

I was a mess. My clothes were soiled with dust, and my skin sported a thin layer of grime from laying on the rooftop. Even though I had been pretty sure of it before, I saw that my hair stuck up at odd angles. The boy in the mirror frowned deeply, and I hurried on.

Suddenly, a voice rang out loud and sure. "Halt!"

I stood still for a minute, unsure as to whether or not they were talking to me. Surely they had to know who I was in spite of the fact that I was windswept and dirty.

"Put your hands up and turn around slowly or I'll shoot!"

Apparently not.

Raising my hands and swiveling around the face the soldier. He was a stout man with deep, bellowing voice, I utter the words, "Would you so jovially kill you prince?"

"Prince?" the soldier muttered, looking at me like I was insane. He looked me over for a moment shaking his head until a look realization began to dawn on his face.

"Y – your highness?"

"Yes?"

"I – I'm so sorry. I have no idea how I could ever begin to apologize."

"Well, putting your gun down would be a wonderful start."

"Oh!" He exclaimed as he hurriedly lowered his weapon. My arms dropped to my sides, and my eyes stayed on him as he replaced the firearm in its holster.

He was a stout man with a mop of mousy brown hair. His uniformed looked like it was straining to contain his broad shoulders.

"Sir," he said this time almost unintelligibly, his head hanging in shame.

"Yes, uh, I'm sorry I don't seem to know you name."

"Calloway, sir," the soldier said saluting. I nodded my silent approval.

"The King and Queen are worried sick looking for you." His next words were so quiet, I had to strain to hear them. "They think you're dead."

A sharp pain stabbed me in my chest. I could only imagine the pain my Mother was going through. I had never intended to hurt her; I'd likely been missing for hours, and after a rebel attack as brutal the one that had swept through the palace like a tornado, it would only be logical to assume I was dead.

Turning from Officer Callow, I began to walk in the direction of the main stairwell.

"Sir, where are you going?" he called after me.

"To prove them wrong."

Finding my parents was rather easy; I simply went to the area of the palace that had the greatest concentration of soldiers.

When I first saw my mother, there was a certain light in her eyes, and before I'd even blinked, I found myself trapped in a crushing hug.

"Maxon," she whispered over and over again. She touched my hair, my grimy face and hands, and ran her hands over my ruined clothes like she was try to make sure I was real. She didn't seem to care that her dress was soiled now, only that I was here.

I smiled into her hair; I'd really needed this.

"Maxon," said an austere voice from behind me. Releasing my mother from the embrace, I turned to find my father observing us.

"What do you suppose we do about_this_," he said gesturing at several gouges in a nearby wall. "About these, rebels?"

Furrowing my brow, I'd never felt more determined or sure of myself in my entire life. "We destroy them all."

**I'm so sorry for being late this was sort of difficult for me to write, but as always please review! **


	4. Penalties

**-America-**

Our camp was small, after the raid we had split up our massive force in order to avoid detection, but it still housed over a hundred fifty people in its makeshift tents. There were small fires throughout the vicinity, some used or cooking while others, like the one crackling warmly in front of me, served as centers of entertainment.

A small chicken was roasting on a spit above the hungry flames. My friend, Kel turned it slowly, wanting to "roast it to perfection." When it was done, much to Kel's dismay, we tore into it like rabid animals.

"Why do you even chew, just inhale it'll go faster." She muttered tossing several blond strands over her shoulder.

"Oh, come on, you know we just can't _resist_ your cooking," Aspen said a wicked half grin on his face.

She scowled deeply, an expression that didn't fit in well with her delicate features. "Animals," she grumbled almost unintelligibly.

"Here, Kel," I said handing her a chicken leg I had managed to snag before the frenzy had set in.

"Thanks, Mer," she said taking it gingerly between her thumb and fore finger.

After we all had finished eating, we started telling tales of what we'd seen in the palace. It worked as a sort of mental detox, allowing us to release all the terrible things we had seen and done. But with the blatant exaggeration in the stories, one couldn't help but to laugh.

I honestly didn't know what I was going to say. I couldn't admit that I'd met the prince, and let him live. The price for disloyalty was too high.

We went around slowly, our group wasn't very big, but it takes time to tell a story. It was Aspen's turn before it was mine.

He beguiled us with an incredibly tall tale about how he'd fought off hundreds of guards and found and raided the wine cellar. I was so absorbed into it, into him. Everything around me felt synthetic, and wrong. It all sounded so beautiful the way he wove the story; it almost felt true.

Almost.

"Hey, Aspen, did you slay a dragon while you were down there?" a voice called out from somewhere to my left, snapping me back into reality.

A chorus of laughter erupted.

"Why would I want to slay your girlfriend?" Aspen shot back.

A short boy with spiky brown hair and a hooknose answered "That was one time!"

Aspen smiled impishly, "Oh, and, Callen, in case you haven't noticed your hand's starting to get jealous."

Another bout of laughter started, and this time I was a part of it. Sounds of merriment swirled around me. The euphoria rose over us like a wave, and I was swept up in its power.

When the laughter died down, the space was uncomfortably quiet. I felt a shiver rack my body, in spite of that fact that it wasn't even very cold out here.

"What about you, Mer?" Aspen asked, apparently deciding that the quiet was too much. "What did you do in the palace?"

"I…" I paused, the words catching in my throat. What could I say that would sate them? They wanted something funny and interesting. I wasn't even sure I could give.

"Well, I…I got to the roof and believe it or not, but–,"

"Hey! You might want to hear this!"

Thankfully, I'd been interrupted. Everyone's attention was now diverted to the man who had called out to us. He was one of the men who constantly monitored the radio stations to listen for any news we could get that might help us. I could never remember his name, Sam, Sal, something along those lines.

The man had turned the radio up so we could hear it. From the sound it, there was an Emergency Report, which in turn meant a special announcement.

How nice. Maybe the royals had gotten tired of us attacking them and were finally willing to give up power. I fought back a grin; that would never happen.

Gavril Fadaye introduced the non-prince, as I now liked to call him, in his usual manner. But once he finished last syllable, the entire mood of the Report changed. The next voice that came on was more familiar.

"Citizens of Illea, I apologize for my so sudden intrusion onto your evenings, but I as well as my mother and father find it necessary to address our country's the worsening issue."

The caste system?

"The Rebels that so belligerently seek to destroy our great nation grow stronger with each day."

Oh.

"They call the government unjust, but what do they know of injustice? They plunder private property, deface and outright destroy government buildings, and murder innocent people. These insurrectionists feel that have the right to call us unjust, but on what grounds?"

He was good.

"I feel that I speak for all citizens of Illea when I say that I have grown tired of these rebels, and tired of their machinations. Therefore, it is in the best interest of our country that I announce, and ratify the Fugitive Rebel Act."

My eyes widened; this didn't sound good at all.

"From this day on, anyone found to be affiliated with any organization that is working against the country of Illea will be sentenced to death, and will legally, hereby be referred to as a Rebel. Any person harboring a Rebel, or who knows the whereabouts of a Rebel, and does not report said Rebel with the space of 36 hours, will be sentenced to death, and will legally, hereby be referred to as a Sympathizer. Anyone found having dealings with a known Rebel, or Sympathizer, will be sentenced to death, unless said person reports said Rebel or sympathizer within the space of 12 hours."

We all looked around at each other. Could this possibly be true? The man at the radio opened his mouth to speak, but was drowned out when the prince continued his monologue.

"All Rebels and Sympathizers starting from the time they commit their crimes are eights, which in the case of sympathizers can be reversed once they have reported to civil authorities the accounts of their crimes. Rebels, starting from the time they begin their affiliation with said organizations, are no longer Illean Citizens, and therefore are not allowed to: own property, work, or marry."

What?

"I would like to thank you all for you cooperation this evening, and wish you a good night."

I stared at the radio for a few moments afterwards. Fadaye said something after that, but it was muddled, then the station went to static.

This wasn't real, it couldn't be real. It was probably some big royal joke that they were all laughing at over their champagne.

"Well, that has to be the dumbest thing ever," Aspen said a bored look on his face.

But, then came the screaming, and then the gunfire.

And when we jumped up from our seats, the soldiers were upon us.


	5. Clueless

**-Maxon-**

After the announcement I walked solemnly to my room. This time nothing stopped me.

My father had been so happy. He had commended me and even hugged me. The gesture felt odd coming from him. The only other time he had ever commenced close contact with me was…

I paused in the middle of the hallway. Fear rushed through my veins, even worse than during the rebel attack. Doubling over, I felt the ghostly pains of long gone lashes spread across my back.

Passing soldiers looked at me like I was insane.

"Are you okay sir?" asked a voice from above me.

I scrambled to find an acceptable excuse. "Oh, I'm fine!" I said a little too enthusiastically. "I just hurt my–" My hand quickly shot out to my knee. "–my knee!"

"Do you need help sir?"

I nodded vigorously.

Glancing up, I could see from the soldier's face that he wasn't convinced, but he helped me all the same. He called over another soldier; they stood on either side of me and looped my arms around their shoulders.

We walked at a slow, but steady pace. Going up the stairs proved to be a problem, yet we – ok _they_ – managed it. They carried me to my room and set me on my bed then quickly left to go do whatever it was soldiers did.

I paused in that thought. Why didn't I know what the soldiers did? If I was going to be king shouldn't I have that knowledge? Aside from the fact that they protected us, I knew nothing about them. Where were their barracks? Were the ones that were stationed here fresh recruits or veterans? What did they do when they weren't working?

For a future world leader I knew very little.

I glanced at my watch; it was three a.m. I groaned loudly.

Finally getting up from my bed, I changed into my pajamas mechanically, and flopped onto my bed in a very unprincelike manor. Pulling the covers up to my chin, I allowed all my muscles to relax, and I closed my eyes and there was peace.

That is until my father burst into the room.

"There's my boy!" He said happily, a wide grin spread across his face.

"Hello, father," I replied, my voice weak and small.

His smile wavered for a moment, "You aren't going to go to sleep are you?"

What tipped him off, the fact that I was lying in bed with my eyes closed, or that I looked just as exhausted?

"Yes, I wa–"

"No, you can't I need to have a talk with you," He cut me off, his eyes shining menacingly.

I knew that I wouldn't get any peace if I refused to listen to what he had to say, so I sat up and tried to pay attention in spite of the sleepy haze that floated over me.

My father stood in the doorway silently for a moment, his eyes sweeping over the room. "The maids cleaned up nicely in hear," he started, his voice soft. "I heard that yours was one of the hardest hit rooms."

That startled me. Why hadn't I noticed that my room was clean? If it was anything like what little of the third floor I had seen, it would have looked like a tornado had ripped through here. Yet, it was clean, my widows were intact, none of my furniture was destroyed, and my clothes and other belongings were all where I had left them. The only evidence of the attack was the faint smell of fresh paint. I honestly could not be this clueless. Could I?

Father sighed loudly, pulling my attention back to him as he started to speak, "Maxon, as you know, you shall soon ascend the throne and become king of Illéa. And, this law that you have put into place, gives a precedent for how you shall rule." He paused then, and drew in a deep breath. "I believe that you have set an exemplary standard of rule."

My eyes widened, "Th – thank you father." He smiled again, but this smile was foreboding replica of the first.

"To think Maxon, you, of all people, are the one to implement such an edict. Not even I would dare do such a thing!" he moved from his place in the doorway to stand directly in front of me. "This will send a message that we do not accept such blatant disrespect. It'll hit the rebels hard. They'll be eradicated in months at this rate."

He stood taller then and straightened his clothes. When he spoke again his voice was softer and more composed.

"Of course, there _will_ be casualties."

I furrowed my brow. "What?"

"Lives will be lost; a few people will die, but it will have finally been accomplished. The Rebels will all be gone." As he said the last part that ferocious gleam in his eye sparked up again.

My stomach turned, and I felt sick

"How many people are going to die?"

He turned to leave, and completely brushed off my question. "Maxon, rest we'll conti–"

"How many people are going to die, because of what I did?"

My father paused in the doorway, looking at me over his shoulder.

"A little more than a million."

I closed my eyes for a long time; I didn't want to open them again.

The same words played over and over again in my head. What have I done what have I done whathaveidonewhathaveidone?

"N – no, we – we have to stop this as soon as possible." I stammered

"After the fanfare you brought up just to announce it? No, we cannot risk seeming indecisive or weak." He left then, but there was one more thing I had to know.

"Why wouldn't you have done this?" I called, sitting there for several long moments before realizing that he hadn't heard me.

Just as I was lying down again I heard a voice say, "I can't afford to have the people hate me as they will hate you for this," and then the lights went out.

Afterwards, I laid in the dark for what felt like hours. I blinked away tears and tried not to think about how I had just killed a million people.

**AN: Sorry this is a day late; I'm super busy right now. This chapter isn't very action-packed, but it's very important! So, as always please review. xoxo**


	6. Ashes

**Tw: violence **

**-America-**

The camp was in chaos.

People scrambled over each other trying to flee. Fires, once contained, now tore hungrily through the makeshift lean-tos. Bullets flew freely through the air, and in the dim light, several fell at the hands of their own comrades. Screams mixed with the sound of gun fire and the roar of the ever encroaching flames, to create one of the most terrifying sounds I had ever heard.

And all the while, the soldiers lurked through the camp like shadows. They were as silent and lethal as death.

"Mer!" Aspen shouted from somewhere to my left. I turned to see him aiming a handgun at the nearest soldier. He stooped down for a moment to scoop up a backpack, and tossed it to me then stood again. "Get out of here!"

I started backing away hesitantly. My gaze swept over our once happy encampment, and fell on the shape of Kel. She was on the ground. A Soldier wasn't far off; his gun was aimed at her. Then at the last minute he fell to the ground, blood beginning to blossom from his torso.

I darted to her, carefully stepping over the Soldier's body. "Kel, are you okay?" I had to almost scream to be heard, over the cacophony.

She looked shaken, but took my hand when I offered it to her and pulled herself up. "I'm fine," she answered.

"We have to get out of here." I said by this time I was willing to leave without hesitation.

"Right," she said, even though her eyes still scanned the area around the still burning fire that only minutes ago we had sat around contentedly. "I have to get my bag, it has food in it!"

I nodded in agreement, my eyes spotting the familiar shape of it. "I think I see it over there," I said pointing to a place not far from where she had been sitting during the Special Report.

"Okay, I'll get it. Meet me at the tree line," she said walking off to get the bag.

I watched her leave for a moment, and then I saw a bullet go through the cloth wall of a lean-to, and finally started running to the relative safety of the forest.

The instant I entered the forest, I was swathed in cool darkness. It was calming, in spite of the fact that I could still see the camp from where I had collapsed in the underbrush.

I waited for what felt like hours for Kel to come. When I finally heard the sounds of someone crunching through the underbrush, I sighed in relief. I quickly came out of my hiding place, discretion tossed to the wind. "What took you so long Kel?" I asked.

But when I looked, it wasn't Kel standing there; it was a soldier.

He looked to be just as surprised to find me here as I was to see him. All of my muscles were coiled and ready to spring. But instead of charging him, I took off in the opposite direction at full speed.

The distant crunch distant of dead leaves and snapping branches alerted me to the fact that he was chasing me. I tried to run faster, but my lungs were beginning to burn and my knees were already aching. For just a moment, I thought that I could out run him. Then I felt something pulling on my hair and then I was falling onto the forest floor.

"Where do you think you're going?" He growled at me. I clawed at his face, but he was too far for me to reach.

I fought him but to no avail. He pulled me up to my feet by my hair, and pointed his gun at me. "Get moving," He said releasing my hair, and jabbing me in the back with the barrel of his gun.

Hanging my head, I began the trek back to whatever remained of the camp. I blinked back tears; I knew that going back meant death.

Every fiber of my being wanted to fight back, but fighting meant death too. Even now when were now only yards from the tree line, and the light from several fires shined through the dense shadows of the forest, the soldiers gun hovered near the small of my back. He wouldn't hesitate to shoot, that was quite obvious.

My gaze swept over my immediate area; I had to find some way to get away. I'd almost given up when I heard something moving the bushes, and then with a dull bang, the soldier fell forward onto me.

I quickly pushed him off of me and scrambled to my feet. Kel stood where seconds before the soldier had been holding a frying pan in both of her hands, with two bags slung over her shoulder.

"You ok?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, leaning against a tree.

"Then let's keep moving," she said turning to leave.

"Kel?"

"Yes?"

"A frying pan? Really?"

She threw her hands up exasperatedly, "it was all I could find!"

"mmhm," I said, crossing my arms.

She narrowed her eyes and tossed me one of the bags on her shoulder. "Here!" she said as the bag sailed through the air in a wide arc.

I caught it with a grunt. It was so heavy!

"What is this?"

"It's the bag you dropped back when the soldier grabbed you."

I hitched it up on my shoulder.

"What now?" I asked

"We have to go help them." She answered, and I nodded in agreement.

We reached the area where they were holding the rest of us, not too long after that, but we were too late.

Most of them were far beyond our help. The bodies lay discarded on the ground, blood pooled around them. Sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, brothers, and sisters: all dead.

Kel sobbed silently, as the soldiers descended upon the remaining captives. They had tied their hand behind their backs and lined them up shoulder to shoulder. No one resisted, though a few of them cried.

The soldiers went down the line, quickly dispatching their victim and moving on the next. It was savagery.

I scanned the faces of the people in line until my eyes fell on Aspen, and my blood ran cold. It wasn't because he had a large gash on his forehead, or that there was blood on his shirt from some undetectable injury, no.

He was next in line.

I almost stood, but Kel's hand clamped onto my arm and held me down. Tears stared gushing down my cheeks. It was like the floodgates had been opened and now it seemed like they would never close again.

Our eyes met for the slightest moment, and what I saw there made me all the sadder. It was a lifetime of regret mixed with love, the kind of love that burns so bright it hurts.

Then he closed his eyes and the soldier moved behind him.

The shot rang out louder than the previous ones, and it took all the strength I had to keep still as his body slumped to the ground.

I was trembling with rage. I hated the soldiers for coming into our camp and doing this. I hated my father for telling us to camp so closely to Angeles. I hated Gregory Illéa for founding this country. I hated myself for being such a coward.

But most of all, I hated that stupid prince for doing this. It was his fault, all his fault that Aspen would never be able to tell me that he loved me, his fault that thousands of other innocent people would die.

In that moment, I knew what I was going to do.

I began to slowly move away from the massacre that the camp had become. Kel followed suit.

"We're going to Angeles." I said determination steeling my voice.

Kel looked mystified at my statement. "What? That's the worst place to be right now."

Turning towards the city's general direction, I started to walk. "_I'm_ going."

"Why?"

I turned to look at her, feeling colder and emptier than I ever had before.

"I'm going to kill the prince."

**AN: I'm really proud of this chapter; I love it so much, and I hope you guys love it too. I'm changing the plot that I had originally envisioned, but don't worry there'll still be plenty of Maxon/America shipping later on! Ok, so, go review guys. Try and guess what you think will happen next! **


	7. Shattered

**-Maxon-**

The next few days passed without incident.

On the surface I looked like I was the perfect prince. I listened intently at meetings about the war, which often lasted late into the nights. To the girls, I was the image of the perfect gentlemen. I took them each out on dates, if that's what you could call them.

But on the inside I was completely shattered. During the war meetings I couldn't stop thinking about all of the innocent people that would die because of my ignorance. Every time I so much as looked at one of the girls, I couldn't help but wonder if someone they knew was going to die because of me.

I felt so stupid, so incredibly stupid. How could I sentence people to death and expect them not to die?

It was like I was running on autopilot, and when I finally found my consciousness again, I was at dinner.

I scanned the room, my eyes burning like someone was shining a light in them. The girls sat at their tables near the edges of the vast room. They were in groups, well that is except for Marlee, but I didn't expect as much. She was a loner.

Someone was calling my name. I looked up to see my mother, elegant as ever in a spring green evening gown, looking at me intently.

"Maxon," she said her voice edged with concern. "Are you okay?"

I stared at her for a long moment, before I was able to process what she had said.

"Y – yes, I – I'm fine," I stammered, the words feeling wrong on my tongue. The room suddenly felt void of air, and I drew in a shaky breath.

"Son," My father said gently, his voice making it sound like a question.

The room was beginning to close in on me; I drew in another shaky breath, and knew that I'd lose consciousness if I didn't get out of here.

I pushed back my chair and stood, which turned out to be a mistake because then the room started spinning, and I had to brace myself against the table in order to keep from toppling over.

"May I be excused?"

My parents looked at me like I was insane, and then looked at each other for a moment before answering. "Yes, but be sure to see the doctor, son." My father whispered the last part.

I nodded quickly – another mistake – then pushed my chair back in and started towards the giant mahogany doors. As I walked I felt the eyes of the Elite watching me fixedly.

When I finally escaped the crushing tightness of the room I stood in the hallway for a moment, still unable to catch my breath.

I had to get out of here. Should I go to the garden? No, the guards would watch me there.

That left only one option.

Before I had even decided on it, my legs began to carry me up the innumerable stairs. I wasn't even conscious of being tired or even mildly winded this time, though the latter was likely due to the fact that I still couldn't breathe. Or, maybe I was, but I just wasn't aware.

Everything was a fuzzy blur, and I hadn't realized that I had reached the roof until the wind hit me. It was sharp and chilly, but it brought me to my senses.

I drew in a deep breath, and it felt like I was breathing for the first time ever. The air was so sweet on my tongue, and it tickled my lungs. I ambled over to the flagpole and collapsed next to it. The moon wasn't full so I was sure no one would see me as I leaned on it.

I dreamily watched the skyline twinkling like a million stars. Beyond that I watched the sky spread on and on to infinity.

Was that what it felt like to die? To finally be free, and feel yourself spread outward infinitely?

Perhaps I had done those people a favor, and freed them from what would prove to be an agonizing existence. The world was far crueler than anyone would ever know, but what would I – a prince, who has lived his entire life in luxury – know about that?

Everything, and yet at the same time, nothing at all.

I rubbed my eyes; it was way too late at night for this philosophical crap.

The moon rose higher in the sky, and my eyelids got heavier until I could no longer stay awake, but perhaps if I had, I would have heard the sirens, or the shouts from the soldiers, or even the pounding of footsteps on the stairs.

I awoke to a feeling of pain spreading across my jaw, and grabbed the flagpole just in time to keep myself from falling to the ground.

"_That_ was for Aspen," said a cold voice from above me. I realized with a sinking feeling that it was familiar. "And, _this _is for me."

I felt something akin to a brick hit me in my stomach and I grunted in pain as I tried to hoist myself up.

"Not so tough without your daddy's guards around to protect you," the voice said again, this time the attacker hit me in the face again. I landed a few feet away from where I had been at the flag pole, only this time I was on my back and I could see my attacker – I could see her.

The girl looked just like she had the last time I'd been so unfortunate so as to encounter her. She even wore the same clothes. The only difference from last time was that now, she wore a type of steely determination in her eyes. It was terrifying.

She punched me in the face again, but this time I was sure that my lip had busted. The girl shook her head as if to get rid of a bad thought before continuing.

I didn't stop her; I didn't fight back. I knew I deserved whatever she dished out, but I was surprised when I saw a stray tear trail down her cheek.

"You condemned innocent people to death. And for what? A few broken vases, a little shattered glass? They stood up for what they believed in and you took their lives away." She spat at me, balling up her fist for another punch.

I couldn't stand this any longer; I was like one of the bottles of soda my Aunt Adele brought me after they had been shook up. I couldn't contain myself any longer.

Hot, angry tears flooded down my face, mixing with the blood that was already there. "Don't you think I hate myself enough for it?" I yelled at her. "It's all I think about, the people that I've killed. I can't sleep, I can't eat, my own parents think I'm going crazy, I have no idea what I'm doing with my life anymore, and – and I just hurt all over."

She watched me for a moment before sitting down next to me. I scrambled up into a sitting position next to her. The girl just looked out into to space for several long moments before saying, "I'd planned on killing you."

Her eyes hardened. "I still do," she confessed, her voice nothing more than a whisper. I had to strain my ears to hear the rest. "But, maybe we can help each other."

"You believe me?" I asked incredulously.

The girl finally turned to look at me. "You can't fake the type of pain that you have. I can see it in your eyes; this is going to stay with you the rest of your life."

I shivered at her words. "H – how do you suggest we help each other?"

"I don't want the people I love to die, and you want to save lives. Am I right?"

My limbs were shaking as I slowly answered, "yes."

"Then, I think we can come to a compromise."

I began to nod, a question formed in my mind that I couldn't ignore.

"One condition," I said, watching carefully for her reaction. "You have to tell me what made you want to kill me this time."

She gritted her teeth. "Shreave – " she started, but I cut her off.

"If we're going to do this then you have to call me by my name – my _first_ name."

"Which is?"

I was perplexed; most people already knew my name. "Maxon."

She looked at me for a long time. "My name is America," she finally admitted, and then she told me everything.

**Wow, super proud of this chapter too. This chapter was actually pretty hard for me to write (which is why it took so long), but here it is! And as always please review!**


	8. Redemption

**-America-**

When I finished my retelling, Maxon sat in silence, his head cradled in his hands. It felt wrong to watch him while he was like this so I kept my gaze trained straight ahead.

"What have I done?" He whispered, seemingly towards himself. "I'm so sorry," he finally said, looking up at me through his thick eyelashes. "I didn't know it would be like that; it must have been my father –"

"I don't need your excuses," I said sternly, cutting him off. I was sick of excuses and apologies. What happened had happened and now we were all left to pick up the pieces and move on accordingly.

Maxon hugged his knees to his chest, his eyes lowered. "So, you have a plan?" he murmured so low that his voice was almost swept up in the wind.

"Not exactly," I started my brow furrowing. "But, I know that right now the entire rebellion is scattered. If what I'd heard from the soldiers is true, our numbers have been nearly slashed in half, and if what I'd heard from the few rebels that I've been able to come into contact with is true, only a third of our forces have been, er, dispatched."

"And this is in regards to the Northern, or Southern rebels?"

I looked at him for a moment, hoping the confusion was obvious on my face. "North, South, what?"

"Oh, um, well. It always was apparent to us that the rebels were split into two distinct groups: the Northern rebels, who are responsible for the more frequent attacks, and the Southern Rebels, who are more lethal and who – fortunately – attack less frequently, often maybe one or two times a –"

"I know what you're talking about, and to be honest you're partly right," I said with a sigh. "The main force of us is what you call the "Northern rebels,' the 'Southern rebels,' are a section of us that broke away a while ago to pursue a more, um, radical, approach to our common cause. We still worked together, and lived together at times; they just had different leaders and objectives."

"So you had an alliance?"

"You could have called it that, yes. And, to answer your question the information I got is about both of the groups. We've converged."

Maxon stood up again and was pacing the roof, a thoughtful look on his face. He didn't say anything so I continued.

"If I could get them somewhere safe, somewhere where the number of soldiers is limited I could –"

"You could what? Lead them in another rebellion?"

"No I could help them get some peace of mind. Contrary to what you believe, _Maxon_, they _are _people. They're all in hiding, most of them are likely starving or injured. They just want some semblance of a normal life."

He had stopped pacing and was staring at the ground. "Why am I even listening to you? A simple rebel. I am the crown prince of Illéa; I could have you executed, and be on my merry way."

"But, you're not going to do that; you want redemption." I said quietly. He stared at me, his princely veneer thoroughly shattered. Maxon looked as if I had jumped up and shaken him, which is what I suspect my words had done.

"What is it that you need me to do?"

"I need the means to such a thing. This is thousands of people we're talking. They'll need food, shelter, and medical supplies –" I paused for a moment to think, I'd never thought I would get this far.

"Go on," he prodded

"And, I'll need to know where the soldiers are concentrated the least. It's also very important that, when you're down in your meetings to make sure that no one suspects where we're going."

"What do you mean?"

"For instance, if they figure out that we're going southeast, you convince them that we're going northwest."

"Of course," he agreed. Then stopped and narrowed his eyes a bit. "But, how do I know you're not just swindling me?"

I smirked a little; he was smarter than he looked.

"Because I'm willing to give you a, um, deposit, of sorts. You see, my friend Kel, she's a six she can stay here and work as a maid. And if I end up swindling you; you can have her executed, if not, then when this whole thing is over she can go free. Sound like a deal?"

One of his eyebrows was arched severely, and he paced a few times before answering. "I am not one for taking hostages, but I do suppose that in this situation it is necessary. So, yes it is a deal."

"Good," I said unable to fight back the smile in my face. This was happening, really happening! I felt like dancing, and I almost did before I remembered that I was here with Maxon. And then, I remembered something else. "How do I know that you aren't going to just report me to the guards?"

Maxon looked at me his expression surprised like it had never crossed his mind that I wouldn't trust him. "I am a man of my word," he said, sounding hurt, one of his hands snaked into his pocket. "But, here," he produced a golden ring. I recoiled, what was he doing?

"Here take it!" he tossed the ring to me and my hand shot out to catch it. I turned it over in my palm. The metal was cool and smooth. There was a flat circle on the band that seemed to have something imprinted on to it.

"It's a signet ring," he said, answering my question before I had even asked it. "Whenever there are official laws or decrees passed, they are stamped with the king and the crown prince's signet rings and in order to show that we both support it. And, by carrying that ring you show that you are working in my behalf. It can get you plenty of places that you normally wouldn't be able to go."

I stared at the little metal piece in my hand. Something this small couldn't be as powerful as he was implying. Could it?

Glancing over at his hand I realized something. "Why don't you wear it?" I asked.

He lifted up his hand and started staring at his palm. "I, um, it's too big. The last one to wear it before me was my father."

"oh," I said lamely.

"I was supposed to get it resized, but I got busy," he said, his voice trailing off. "So, Am-er-i-ca," he pronounced each syllable of my name slowly and carefully. "It will take me several days to conjure up these means you require, so it seems you will have to stay in the city for now. You and your friend can stay in the old hunting lodge, not too far from here." He pointed towards the forest behind the palace. "It's several miles in that direction. You can't miss it; it's a large brick building."

I peeked with excitement, a house meant electricity and more importantly hot water. It had been so long since I'd had a real shower. So, I was unhesitant as I nodded my agreement.

Maxon walked over to the edge of the roof and looked down for a moment. "I'd recommend you go now," he said. "The others are leaving. I'll meet you later at the lodge."

I started off towards the stairwell when I thought of something. Turning around quickly, I asked, "So, Maxon, this means that – that we're working together?"

He quirked his eyebrow, "Yes."

I had almost turned when I saw him extend his hand out to me. "I do imagine you'd want to shake on it," he said, his carefully constructed mien now back in place. I cocked my head, ones were strange, but I took his hand anyway and "shook" it. Then I ran like my life depended on it, probably because it did.

**This chapter ended up being longer that I anticipated which is why it wasn't posted yesterday. So, yea. Anyway, I hope those of you who are getting out of school right now (and even you all who aren't) have a nice summer! xoxo **


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